“Yes,” said Brother Simon meekly. “But I had hoped to find more milk and honey awaiting us.”
“There is food for the soul,” chided the other, adjusting his paunch with a flabby hand. “That is true nourishment. Look inward and praise God for his goodness.”
Ralph trotted to the head of the column and called a halt. It was time to separate. During their stay in the city, Hubert and Simon would be guests at the priory. The men-at-arms were lodging at the timber castle which stood outside the wall. Had not Golde been with them, Ralph and Gervase would have joined the soldiers, but his wife had such unhappy memories of staying in a similar motte-and-bailey structure in York, during their last assignment, that Ralph sought alternative accommodation.
He, Golde and Gervase made their way to the home of Osbern the Reeve. It was a long, low, timber-framed house in Burgate Ward, occupying a corner site which gave it greater space and significance while exposing it to the passing tumult on two sides.
Ralph had severe reservations about taking up residence in a Saxon household but most of them vanished when he met his host.
“Welcome!” said the reeve, answering the door in person and bowing politely. “I am Osbern and it is a privilege to offer you the hospitality of our humble abode. Step inside, pray. A servant will stable your horses and fetch your belongings.”
The visitors were conducted into the solar and introduced to Eadgyth, the reeve’s wife, a plump but attractive young woman with a shy smile and a submissive manner. Osbern himself was fifteen years older, a short, neat, compact individual with a well-groomed beard. His tunic and cap gave him a touch of elegance and Ralph admired the precision of his movements. The reeve exuded a quiet confidence. He would be helpful without being obsequious.
What really appealed to Ralph was the fact that Osbern spoke in Norman French to him, revealing an easy command of the language of his masters. Refreshment was at hand and Eadgyth went off into the kitchen to supervise it. Her husband took the opportunity to show his guests to their chambers on the floor above. Gervase Bret was tactful. Conscious of their need for privacy, he took his host aside so that Ralph and Golde could have a moment alone together.
The chamber was small but spotlessly clean and the bed was invitingly soft. Ralph held her in his arms to place a first long kiss on her lips.
“At last!” he said.
“Are you glad that I came with you?”
“I am in a state of delirium, my love.”
“You must not let me become a distraction.”
“That is exactly what I hope you will be.”
“You have obligations as a royal commissioner,” reminded Golde. “They must be fulfilled.”
“Even royal commissioners are allowed to sleep.”
“Then I will do my best not to keep you awake.”
He grinned happily and reached for her again but the hubbub from the street below came in through the open window. Ralph closed the shutters to lock out the disturbance. He embraced Golde in the half-dark and kissed her with the ardour of a bridegroom. She responded with equal passion and they moved closer to the bed. Before they could tumble into it, however, a booming sound rocked the building and reverberated around the chamber. The bell for Tierce was chiming in the nearby cathedral.
The sudden noise made them leap guiltily apart. Golde recovered at once and burst out laughing. Ralph did not share in the amusement.
“The Church has come between us,” he said bitterly.
It was an omen.
CHAPTER TWO
Gervase Bret made good use of his time alone with his host.
He plied him with questions and garnered an immense amount of valuable intelligence about the city. Born and brought up in Canterbury, the reeve had an intimate knowledge of its people and its administration. He volunteered information freely and was clearly impressed that Gervase was able to speak the Saxon tongue so fluently. Osbern would be a key figure in the work of the commissioners, summoning witnesses before them, giving advice on local customs and generally supervising their activities in such a way as to make their visit at once pleasant and productive.
The two men came back downstairs to the solar.
“Our first dispute concerns land in Fordwich,” said Gervase.
“It sets cathedral against abbey.”
“Then you must brace yourself,” warned the other.
“Why?”
“Passions run high between them.”
“Indeed? With two such intelligent parties, I hoped for a fierce legal debate but one conducted in moderate tones.”
“There will be no moderation, Master Bret.”
“Oh?”
“Cathedral and abbey are already locked in combat. A property dispute will only add to the ferocity of that combat. Take care that you are not caught between the two warring factions.”
“What is the nature of their quarrel?”
“The election of the new abbot,” explained Osbern. “St.
Augustine’s Abbey was a place of holy zeal and contentment under the late Abbot Scotland.”
“Tales of his enterprise reached us in Winchester.”
“Then you will know how selflessly he dedicated himself to his mission. When he came here, the abbey itself was in a sorry state and many of its monks were wayward. By the time of his death, Abbot Scotland had rebuilt and refurbished the house and imposed the Rule of St. Benedict strictly upon it. He was deeply loved by all and they mourn him still.”
“I see the problem,” guessed Gervase. “The new abbot is a lesser man than his predecessor.”
“That is inevitable, Master Bret. They would never find another Abbot Scotland. The monks were resigned to that.”
“Then what is their complaint?”
“The successor, Abbot Guy, is being forced upon them.”
“By whom?”
“Archbishop Lanfranc.”
“That is his prerogative.”
“They are challenging it.”
“In what way?”
“Every way at their disposal,” said Osbern. “The abbey is in turmoil, as you will soon discover.”
“Why is Guy so unacceptable to them?”
“I do not know, Master Bret.”
“You must have heard the gossip.”
“It is too wild to be taken seriously,” said the other with a noncommittal smile. “In the heat of the moment, even monks will use intemperate language.”
“Yes,” agreed Gervase ruefully. “I was once destined for the cowl myself. I know that holy brothers can bicker every bit as violently as simple laymen. But how will this argument be resolved?”
“Who can say?”
“What is your own opinion?”
“I take no sides,” said Osbern cautiously. “It is not my place to be drawn into this battle. All I wish to do is to forewarn you of its existence.”
“We are most grateful.”
“It will add heat to your deliberations.”
Gervase smiled. “That may be no bad thing.”
Golde came back into the solar with Ralph Delchard. She was still wearing her travelling clothes but he had removed his hauberk and now wore a long tunic. Osbern waved them to seats, then called to his wife in the kitchen. Eadgyth brought in refreshments on a wooden tray and the guests were soon enjoying warm honey cakes with a cup of tolerable wine.
In the relaxed atmosphere, Ralph casually interrogated the reeve to find out exactly what manner of man he was and how much they could rely on him. Ralph was pleased to have his earlier good impression of Osbern confirmed. Their host was clearly honest, conscientious and discreet. They were qualities not always to be found among town officials.
While the three men conversed, Golde sat in a corner with Eadgyth and tried to dispel her shyness with a show of friendship.
Eadgyth was slowly won over. When she realized how much she and Golde had in common, her defences were gradually lowered.
She was an attentive hostess but she excused herself from time to time to slip away into another part of the house, only to return with a smile of relief. Golde eventually divined the reason for her disappearances.